


the next great adventure

by reformedcharacter



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, aaron cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reformedcharacter/pseuds/reformedcharacter
Summary: aaron returns home from robert's funeral





	the next great adventure

**Author's Note:**

> i made a post on tumblr that made everyone cry so i decided to turn it into a short fic! warnings for death and crying and all that jazz!

The Mill is silent as he returns.

His footsteps shuffling on the dark wood floor as his shaking fingers pull away the gloves from his hands, the large door hitting the wall with a dull thud behind him. Aaron’s fingers are cold, frozen almost, as he gazes down at the ring adorning his finger; the shiny silver metal dull with age, yet still a small glint, a bright white reflection, bounces off of the surface.

Aaron’s eyes shift over to the mirror hanging by the door; the large glass hanging over the shoe rack his husband had insisted they display, terrified one of them would trip on one of the shoes left scattered by the door, fall and not get back up. Ever the hypochondriac, Aaron had whispered into his neck later that night. He finds himself in front of the mirror without a second thought, he gulps loudly, and stares into the eyes of his reflection.

He’d aged well, Robert had always told him; deep wrinkles set around his eyes and mouth, laughter lines engraved into his soft cheeks, and a smattering of dark brown hair peeking out amongst the grey. But now, he can see the seventy-three years of his life almost inscribed on his face; the laughter, the tears, and all the in-between. His eyes, a once shining blue, now an almost lifeless grey encased in a glaring red. Tear tracks travel down his face, bypassing the moles that had appeared over time, and down his chin before vanishing.

Aaron pulls away from the mirror and drags his feet over to the couch, and tosses his large brown coat over the side of the arm. Robert had snorted when he had returned home with the item, the words old man and village elder tumbling out of his mouth between the low-pitched giggles. His face had been bright, lips pulled into a wide smile, teeth still shining, as Aaron pulled his slipper from his foot and tossed it at Robert’s head lightly, biting his lip to withhold the chuckles desperate to escape. Aaron smiles, running his fingers gently over the leather, memories of Robert everso present in his mind.

Robert.

It had been peaceful. He hadn’t bow out in a blaze of glory; there were no tears, or fear; no one chasing him down a dirty country lane as he gripped to his steering wheel, knuckles white.

He wasn’t scared. Not anymore.

He had been in his home; curling into Aaron’s side, chin tucked into his neck as though that is where he belonged; Aaron always thought so too. He stayed nestled into Aaron, breathing steady and slowly, eyes fluttering as he drifted to sleep, pressing a kiss onto Aaron’s shoulder with a murmured i love you falling clumsily out of his lips; like he had knew. He always had to be right, Aaron had said years ago, and he was right until his last breath; he would roll his eyes, call him a ‘twat’ whilst finding something else to throw, but he’s on his own now.

Aaron moves again, feet thudding against the floor as he shuffles over to the kitchen; mouth suddenly dry. He hadn’t turned the heating on, normally that job lay with Robert, too preoccupied by dark suits and eulogies to consider what he’d be coming home too.

Although, Aaron realises, his home is now six-feet under, hair combed and arms crossed, it is no longer embedded in the bricks and mortar he stands in; the painted walls and wooden floors that he once seeked solace in for so much time, now nothing but an empty room in an empty house.

It’s then, that he notices it, just as he turns quickly, headed for the empty bed that waits for him. A small white card propped up against the bronze fruit bowl on the vacant table. It’s small, no bigger than the cards Aaron kept stored upstairs, the cards poking out of the bouquets of flowers Robert presented him on the rare occasion, yet there are no flowers in sight.

His arm reaches out towards it, his heavily wrinkled hands shaking slightly as he touches the white card. Turning it over, Aaron’s heart stops.

In Robert’s barely legible, childlike scrawl it reads:

_a perfect end, to a perfect love story_

_yours, forever,_

_r x_

A sob pours out of him before the words have registered in his mind. The card slips from his fingers, floating slowly back down to the table, as Aaron’s hand clamps over his mouth, eyes scrunching tightly shut as he gasps.

and

he

just

falls

down

 

The tiles are cold below his body, joints aching as he curls is legs up into his stomach, chin almost touching his knees as he heaves, tears pouring from his eyes one after the other as he doesn’t attempt to wipe them away. His short nails dig deep into the palms of his hands as his head falls back towards the kitchen cabinet. He bumps it slightly, a sharp pain shooting down his neck but he refuses to care. Aaron brings his clenched fist towards his mouth and bites in a futile attempt to stop the sobs breaking his body apart.

For a second, he wonders; wonders who brought the card to him, wonders why Robert would have written it in the first place. But then, a sense of calm washes over him, and the wrenching sobs pause, air flooding his lungs as breath returns to him. Tears continue to travel over his skin as he stumbles up to his feet, pawing at the cold surface of the table to retrieve the card, his shaking hands bringing it closer to his face as he squints his eyes to see.

Robert, even in his death, Robert protected him. Aaron feels more alone than ever; wants to snap out of his nightmare to Robert lying by his side, as he drapes his hand over his bare chest and feels the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, he wants to kiss Robert’s fluttering eyelids, ruffle his hair and lay in his arms. But he can’t.

He stands alone, in the dimly lit home is husband had tirelessly built for him. Alone, with tears dripping off his chin and onto the card below. Tonight, he will lie in bed alone, the left side of the bed cold, Robert’s clothes still neatly folded on his dresser, the thick paper in his hands a jarring reminder that he’ll never wake up to Robert’s lips on his again; that Robert will never embrace him or console him again.

But he isn’t scared to be alone, not anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr! @frecklysugden
> 
> i didn't proofread this or anything so any mistakes are all on me so please let me know!


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